


Children and stars kiss and lose themselves, gently grab my hand and lead me

by ADyingFlower



Series: I'm only doing this because I love you [12]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Bittersweet Ending, Codependency, Cognitive Dissonance, Dark Keith (Voltron), Delusions, Depression, Dissociation, Dreams and Nightmares, Epilogue, Family Dynamics, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Panic Attacks, Psychologists & Psychiatrists, Recovery, Self-Hatred, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-08-20 18:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20232448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADyingFlower/pseuds/ADyingFlower
Summary: Rewind. Replay. Restart.There’s a beginning, no, not that beginning. Not the one with the flashing lights, a stranger's hands looped around his waist with his tongue heavy and muscles shivering from what he assumed was too many drinks.No, it’s a different kind of beginning. The kind of beginning that started with a snake bite and ended with Lance having his heart ripped out of his chest as the police car pulls away.(Lance deals with the aftermath of Keith letting him go, and learns that sometimes, recovery doesn't always go as planned)





	Children and stars kiss and lose themselves, gently grab my hand and lead me

**Author's Note:**

> 12/12

Here’s the thing: Lance is lonely.

-

Rewind. Replay. Restart. 

There’s a beginning, no, not that beginning. Not the one with the flashing lights, a stranger's hands looped around his waist with his tongue heavy and muscles shivering from what he assumed was too many drinks. 

No, it’s a different kind of beginning. The kind of beginning that started with a snake bite and ended with Lance having his heart ripped out of his chest as the police car pulls away. 

-

He drifts, staring at the ceiling as more drugs are pumped in his veins. Fingers absently scratching at the hospital johnny they forced him into. 

Always drugs. So many drugs. 

Flunitrazepam. Lamictal. Prozac. Risperdal. Citalopram. Abilify. Zyprexa. Ketamine. 

The sedative keeps him outwardly calm, thoughts drifting like fish on the current. Stretching his hand out to the lone ceiling light still on, he lets his fingers splay out, creating shadows and shifting them apart and together. 

He’s not sure how long he slowly comes down from his haze, but the next thing he knows, it’s night out through the window of his room, and he’s alone. 

A nurse pokes her head through the door, smiling gently at him when she notices that he’s awake. It’s the same nurse who called him McClain. 

“Just here to do a check up before the doctor arrives.” She explains, walking up to him to fiddle with his IV. “Are you in any pain? You can be on a light pain relief if you would prefer.” 

Lance honestly doesn’t know what happens next. He’s staring up at her, something disgustingly like anger storming in his stomach, and then she’s on her back with his hands around her neck. 

“_Stop it stop it stop it!_” He screeches, pressing down as hard as he can. She’s not fighting back for some reason, just watching him strangle her with knowing eyes. “You’re the one who took Keith away from me - give him back! Give! Him! Back!” 

“McClain,” she croaks, right as two security guards burst through the door and tackle him off her. One of them grabs his elbow and pulls it behind his back so far he _ howls_, thrashing and shrieking at the top of his lungs. 

“Are you alright, ma’am?” The guard not holding him asks gently, and out of the corner of his eye he can see him helping her to her feet. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She says, rubbing at her throat. “My fault, I shouldn’t have startled a rape victim like that.” 

Rape…victim?

No no no no he wasn’t raped! He consented to everything, he wanted Keith like Keith wants him because they’re in love and that’s what people in love do - 

(Right? His memory’s a little fuzzy right now.) 

There’s a prick in his arm, and he only has a handful of panicked stained minutes as the new sedative washes through his veins before sleep finally drags him under once again. 

When he wakes for a third time, it’s still dark out and his hands are restrained to the bed. 

Instead of panic, something like _ oh thank god_, splashes over him. Closing his eyes again, he settles back against the bed, trying to keep his calm. Keith needs him to be calm right now. 

He’s a good boy. He can be good. 

Keith never tied his hands down like this - it was only his ankle and neck - but he did have his hands tied up in the first two weeks or so, though they were in front of his chest and not by his sides. 

Still, he tries to imagine it. Keith’s cocky grin. His thighs over Lance’s hips. Hands on Lance’s wrists, holding them down by his waist. 

_ Will you be good for me Sweetheart? _He would ask, and yes, Lance would be so good for him. Always. 

He shudders, sinking back into his daydream. The words are indistinguishable, but the light streaming through the window that gifts Keith a halo of fire isn’t. If he focuses enough, he can feel the softness of the twin bed underneath him, Keith’s fingers trailing over his inner wrist, the slope of Keith’s lopsided smile. 

“Hello, Mr. Mclain.” A soft voice interrupts his safe space, and Lance scowls before blinking up at the hospital ceiling. 

“What.” He bites out. 

The woman doesn’t look fazed. She’s pretty, in a distant kind of way that past him might have hit on, with long white hair done up in a bun along with her matching lab coat, but he just turns his head to the side. 

“I’m Dr. Altea.” She introduces, keeping that gentle tone like he’s a spooked animal with its leg in a trap. “I’ll be your case doctor. I’m sure you have a lot of questions, as do I, but is it alright with you if we do some tests?”

_ That _catches his attention, the last wisps of Keith fading away as he turns to face Dr. Altea. “Tests? I can’t consent to that kind of stuff, ask my parents.” 

Her mouth parts. “Ah.” Something calculating passes over her face. Dr. Altea steps forward. “I see. Mr. McClain, it’s November 7th. Does that date have any significance to you?”

He tries to think. Marco’s birthday is the eighteenth. Semester one is usually supposed to end around this time too, what else…Thanksgiving? 

_ Let’s go sneak out for some drinks, the caricature of Lance mouths to his friends, phone illuminating his features, the top reading 6:29: Saturday, November 9th. _

Oh. 

Dr. Altea seems to sense that he gets it. “You’re eighteen now, Mr. McClain. You don’t need your parents consent anymore.” 

How did he not realize that? He felt the seasons change, it’s not like he was isolated from the outside world, he knows monsoons only come near the end of summer, so why…?

Lance doesn’t know. Nothing makes sense, nothing except for the familiar weight wrapped around his wrists. 

He’s eighteen. One of the biggest milestones of his life, and he had no idea it passed. 

“If it’s alright with you,” she starts off, slowly, ever so slowly. “We would like to do a rape kit as soon as possible.” 

He opens his mouth to say he was never raped, but she puts her hand up to stop him in his tracks. “It’s for formalities only. We’re not accusing…Keith, of anything, but we have to do it.” 

She’s lying. He knows that. Yet he swallows heavily. 

“Fine.” He spits out. He’s eighteen now, they can’t prosecute Keith for anything as long as Lance doesn’t accuse him. 

Dr. Altea tries to smile at him. He wants to claw her face off. 

“Your parents will be here in about seven hours, is there anyone who you would like to visit you in the meantime?” She asks kindly, all soft makeup and pink scrubs. It doesn’t fit her - it seems like a costume she’s wearing, and he’s the audience. 

He shakes his head, stops, and then nods. “Keith. I wanna see him.” 

Her smile falters. “Mr. McClain…”

Lance closes his eyes. “Then go away.”

It’s silence for a long while. Then, her footsteps fading away, pausing at the door as she dallies. “It’s going to get easier, I promise.” 

He doubts it. 

Dr. Altea takes her leave then, and while he tries to sink back into his daydream, he finds that Keith’s gentle expression, once so clear and vibrant, has been sullied like oil in the water. 

-

Lance winces, eyes watering as he stares up at the ceiling, trying to think of anything but the gloved fingers shoved up his ass. He shudders, drawing a concerned hum from the woman in between his legs. 

“You okay?” She asks, taking another swab and going to town. All the staff he’s seen so far has been women, and he wonders if that’s on purpose. 

“Fine.” He says shortly, hands twisting up the front of his smock. They untied his hands to do the rape kit, something which was more reliving than he had words to convey. 

The doctors took pictures of him, of the hickeys on his throat, the handprint bruises on his wrists and waist, even the faded scars from where the ankle cuff used to chaff. They’ve taken his blood, had him pee in a cup, clipped his nails, and combed through his hair for some reason. After swabbing his mouth, they had him lay back with his legs opens and try not to think too hard about it or otherwise he would burst into tears. 

“What have you found down there?” He asks, after taking a few moments to swallow several times and claw at his will to keep his composure. To be honest, he’s pretty curious on what they think happened to him, and what the evidence says. 

She hesitates, but must not see anything wrong with sharing it, or is unable to deny him that information. “No anal tearing, but there are traces of semen, won’t know who it is until we take this to the lab. Looks like lubricant was used, as well.” 

AKA: He’s had sex, but there’s no sign it was anything but consensual. And that Keith either needed to buy more fucking condoms or pull out in time, asshole. He knows that Keith was a virgin before him, but c’mon. Lance wonders, somewhat sadistically, if they knew he topped just as much as he bottomed. 

Eventually, she finishes up and bags up her supplies, keeping everything purely clinical as she leaves the room. As soon as he’s able, he sits up and shoves the gown back down to cover everything, trying not to throw up. 

When’s the last time he’s even eaten, anyways? This morning, he didn’t feel like doing much of anything, until Keith took him outside. So no breakfast, and no lunch because he got bitten by that fucking rattlesnake. No dinner, either, he’s been too drugged to even try and eat. 

Has Keith eaten? Has Blue? 

Lance stiffens. 

_ Blue. _

Fuck! 

He has to get out of here and get Blue! Running his hands through his hair, his gaze catches on a locked cabinet under the bedside table. 

Gotcha. Kneeling down, he jiggles the handle, biting lip as he eyes the old knob. If he just - 

Leaning to the side, he pulls the handle up as much as it can go, until his arms are straining. Then he presses down. 

_ Click. _

Knew it! His door knob in his old room back home were much the same, all he had to do was press it at odd angles until it worked. Handy when he had locked himself out of his room for the third time this week and Marco was too busy laughing himself sick at Lance to come help. 

Pushing the memory out of his mind, Lance opens the now broken cabinet, grinning at the large ziplock bags. He tears them open, quickly changing into Keith’s faded T-shirt and a pair of his own shorts. The last bag has Keith’s necklace, so he slips that over his head. Vaguely, he wonders why they hid his clothes in the first place - evidence? A means to make sure he doesn’t run away? He doesn’t get it. 

Shaking his head in frustration, he toes on the hospital slippers, eyeing the window. But no, he’s at least five stories up, and he doesn’t want to die. 

Right? 

Peeking his head out the door, he sighs in relief when he doesn’t immediately spot any familiar looking doctors. He doesn’t know why, but he thought there would be an officer at his door, like in that movie him and Keith watched a couple weeks ago. 

But there isn’t. 

Inhale. Exhale. In and out. C’mon sweetheart, you can do this. 

Lance walks out. 

It’s…surprisingly easy. Of course, it’s so _ loud_, bright and noisy as so many people move past him. He keeps his gaze straight ahead, hands clenched into tight fists by his side as he clicks the down button for the elevator. 

He can do this. 

Lance has to. 

-

Does he even have a license anymore? 

Lance cautiously drives Keith’s car, hands fluttering on the wheel. While he was pretty out of it, he remembers the way out of the desert, so he backtracks his way home. 

How did he forget about Blue? What kind of cat parent is he? 

It’s just…everything's slipping through the cracks of his brain, until he’s not sure what’s real and what isn’t. 

Keith loves him: fact. 

He loves Keith: fact?

Lance needs Keith: fact. 

Keith is gone: fact. 

He’s alone: fact. 

What can he do now? 

Keying off the engine. Lance starts at the sight of Keith’s shack right in front of him. He was just - he was just on the highway! How did he travel over an hour in a couple seconds?!

No no no no don’t panic, you have to keep calm. He can panic later, once he grabs Blue and… 

Couldn’t he just…stay here? Curl up in bed and hide away from the world for the rest of time eternal. 

Yanking the keys out, Lance stumbles on the sand in the pitch darkness, only the glow of the moon lighting his way. It’s strange, for his feet to walk this path he’s walked for months, but just in shoes. The motion detector light flickers on as he steps onto the porch, and the door swings open easily beneath his hand. Keith didn’t even bother to lock it. 

He didn’t lock it. 

Lance flicks the overhead light on, smiling weakly at Blue, who meows at him angrily, how dare he leaves her without food for hours. 

“I know, I know,” he mumbles, opening up the pantry and grabbing the cat food. Shaking it out in her bowl, Lance frowns at the pitiful amount left. 

Wonderful. They need cat food. 

He kicks off his slippers somewhere by the coffee table, falling face first into the bed. Drugged sleep is not real sleep. Liar, liar pants on fire. 

Lance tilts his head to the side to watch Blue eat happily. He feels awful that he forgot about her like that. Why did he just…_ space _ her like that? 

Why is everything going wrong?

-

He dreams: 

Keith and him are laying on the floor. It’s a memory. They hold hands as Lance recounts a funny story from his childhood, the words jumbled and running into each other. Everything’s so bright, so white, that it hurts to look at, the noise of the hospital all around him, and when he turns to face Keith, Keith smiles back at him with no face. 

-

Lance blinks up at the ceiling, Blue fast asleep and snoring on his chest. The sun barely crests over the horizon, dim light shafts making their way through the window next to the bed. 

Every inch of him aches to just lie here for the rest of time, let the earth continue to rotate around the sun, let his family live their lives without him. 

But they’re out of cat food, and he would never let Blue starve. 

So he sits up, rudely waking his cat, who puffs up at him and settles down smugly on Keith’s pillow instead. She seems to know the owner won’t be coming back anytime soon to yell at her, and that thought sends a stab of pain through his chest. He digs through the closet for some of Keith’s spare shoes, checking for spiders before stealing some of his socks and yanking the sneakers on. It’s not until he has them on does he realize that these are the same sneakers he stole when he chased Blue out into the desert, that one horrendous day six months ago. 

Inside the closet is the cat carrier, buried behind boxes of junk. Lance frowns to himself as he pushes aside container of clothes too big for either him or Keith, the kind of clothes that would fit a grown man, a father. It’s a fucked up memorial for a dead man, a man who’s been dead for years. 

“C’mon Blue.” He calls as he pulls the cat carrier out of the closet, shutting the door behind him. Except, Blue takes one good look at the carrier in the middle of giving herself a bath and _ bolts_. Lance sighs, he has no illusions that Keith grabbed her gently when he retrieved her as a gift to him, but he had hoped she would go easily, if somewhat in vain. “Really? Blue, please, I’ve had a long day.” 

She runs past his feet into the kitchen, hopping up onto the kitchen table. “We have to go, you’re almost out of food and I doubt the meat in the freezer is going to stay good forever.” Blue ignores his words, skidding on top of the fridge. “Stop it, you’re just being ridiculous now.” 

Finally, when she jumps down onto the kitchen counter, he lunges, grabbing her by the scruff of her neck and practically throwing her into the cat carrier. She immediately starts wailing, scratching at the inside of the cat carrier like he was Keith taking her from her home all over again. 

Oh god. Oh god. 

Lance sinks to his knees, shaking his head wildly. “No no no non no Blue I’m sorry I promise I’m not him, I’m sorry.” 

She continues to scream, and Lance can’t take it anymore. He picks up the cat carrier and rushes out of the house, barely closing the door behind him as he runs to the car, all the while murmuring apologies to his cat. 

In the end, he hurriedly drives away, barely giving the shack in the rear-view mirror a passing thought, yet still feeling like a part of his heart was being ripped out through his stomach, one shack sized hole digging into his soul. 

-

Lance sits Blue’s carrier down by his bare feet, plopping down in one of the available seats in the waiting room.

Everything… feels distant. Like he’s not really a part of his body. 

He thought he would be happy if Keith let him go. Instead, he just feels miserable. 

“Lance?” 

He looks up. 

“M-mami?”

She runs forward, papi not far behind. Lance stumbles forward, arms outstretched, and she scoops him up in her arms, pressing fervent kisses against the crown of his head. Papi hugs both of them so hard he fears his ribcage might collapse, whispering “My son, oh my baby Lance you’re home you’re home - ” with a kind of keen desperation Lance didn’t think was possible. 

Lance sobs into his mami’s arms, wild and without care to whoever’s watching. 

He’s home. 

-

Of course it’s never that easy. 

“I just don’t see why this is necessary.” His papi says, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. Mami sits perched on the edge of the cot, holding Lance’s hand in a death grip. 

Neither of them have left Lance’s side, both of them looking at him like something treasured was unburied and deposited directly into their hands. 

<strike>Would they still look at him like that when they find out what he did?</strike>

The police officer frowns, looking at their notes uncertainty. “Kogane’s father bought a large sum of land from the city, over ten acres in fact. The land technically belongs to Gila County, and many times, paperwork like this gets lost. So we don’t know the exact location of where he held you, but you do.” 

Lance immediately shakes his head. “No, I don’t.” 

He doesn’t want anyone to see his home for the past twelve months. It’s his. His and Keith’s. 

“Yes you do.” The officer counters, giving Blue’s carrier a significant look before sighing. “Listen, I know this is tough, extremely tough, but we need to -”

He snaps. 

“_No you don’t!_” He shrieks, breaking Mami’s grip to try and grab the lamp by his side. “Leave me alone! Just - go!” 

The officer doesn’t leave, though he does stand and raise his hands like that's going to fucking calm him down. “That’s okay, that’s okay. How about I ask some different questions, instead?” 

It doesn’t do a damn thing, but Mami’s gentle touch on his knee does. Slowly, he puts the lamp back down, all the while glaring fiercely at the officer. 

“Ask them.” He grits out, grabbing Papi’s hand desperately. Papi grasps back just as hard. 

The officer seems to realize that this is the only chance he’s getting. “On November 9th, you were kidnapped by Keith Kogane, is that right?” 

Lance presses a hand against his forehead, whining mournfully. It felt like the deepest betrayal to admit what Keith had done to him, like he was breaking some kind of solemn promise. The promise that Keith made to him, that they would stay together forever? 

Well in the end, you weren’t able to keep it, huh, Keith? You let me go, and look at you now. Look at us now.

With Papi’s and Mami’s gentle, oh so gentle but yet so oppressive touches on his filthy skin, he feels his ability to lie slip away, like a toddler being scolded. 

Shakily, he nods. “Me…me and Hunk and Pidge, we all snuck into this, this bar, I don’t remember it’s name - ” 

“_Quintessence_.” 

“Yeah, that one. I was looking for, for cute guys -” He darts a careful look at his parents. He never officially came out as bisexual to them, but if they think anything of it, they don’t show it. “And I saw Keith, he, um. He looked so shy, you know. Was fiddling with his drinks, like he got stood up, so I approached him.” 

“_You _ approached _ him_.” 

Lance nods, feeling oddly judged. “He offered me a drink, but y’know, I thought I was smart. I would always take their own drink instead of the one meant for me. Well.” He barks out a hoarse laugh. “He knew about that trick. Drugged the opposite drink. We danced a little bit, before I got too loopy. Pretended I was drunk and dragged me out to his car. Tied up my wrists. Ankles. Did something to my shoes, don’t know what. Never saw them again. Or my phone. I’m - fuck, I can’t do this.” 

He bolts, standing over the sink and coughing up pure stomach acid. Mami comes to stand by his side, brushing his hair back soothingly while Papi and the officer talk in hushed voices. 

“I don’t think I can do this,” he confesses quietly to his mother. 

“Yes you can,” she assures, with utter confidence in him. Like he isn’t the fragile thing that Keith made him into. 

When he finishes puking, he wipes his mouth with some paper towels, climbing back onto his cot and holding his knees. Papi runs a hand down his spine, and he shudders, jerking his shoulders away reflexively. It reminds him too much of what Keith would do to calm him down. 

“Just once more question.” The officer assures him, with a cautious look at his father. “Was the sex with Kogane consensual?” 

Mami jerks up, and even Papi looks furious at the question. But neither of them say anything, looking at him with bright eyes filled with curiosity. 

Lance never said no. 

But did he really want it? 

He closes his eyes, hands twisting around each other. 

“Yes.” He lies. “It was consensual.” 

-

They’re dancing around each other in the shack, spinning and spinning and spinning. Keith laughs as he grabs Lance by the waist and picks him up, both of them falling back against the bed. 

“Why did you do this to me?” Keith asks, and when Lance looks over, his face is a molt of bruises and welts. “Do you really hate me that much?” 

“Do you want me to die that much?” 

-

Lance’s siblings trickle in. 

He’s fine around Veronica. The two of them were close even as children, but it was a surprise to hear that she joined the Garrison after his disappearance. 

“There was barely a trace of you.” She confesses quietly. “I wanted to be close in case they ever found new evidence.” 

Rachel is a little harder. She’s so _ loud_, more than once he’s cut her off by slamming his hands over his ears and clenching his eyes shut. Mami pulled her into the hallway, but when she came back, she was quieter, with something like grief in her eyes. 

Marco looks at him now with something unreadable in his eyes. Whatever it is, Lance doesn’t like it, so he tends to avoid eye contact. But he takes in Blue for the duration of his hospital stay, so that has to mean something, right?

The worst is Luis. With Luis comes Lisa, comes the kids.

“Is that her?” He asks, once, very quietly. 

Lisa nods with a bright smile, rocking the baby against her chest. “Her name is Nadia, would you like to hold her?” 

He hurriedly shakes his head no. Her smile wilts. 

They transfer him to the ninth floor, a psych ward all but in name, where the nurses constantly remind him that there’s help if he needs it. He nods his head, avoiding eye contact, and he feels them exchange glances over his head. 

Mami and Papi take him down, with the rest of the family, to eat in the cafeteria. Lance pokes at his mushy mashed potatoes, taking a bite lifelessly. Keith’s cooking tastes better. 

“Hey Mama,” he hears Sylvio ask Lisa none too quietly. “Why is Tío Lance eating like that?” 

Lisa hurriedly shushes Syvio, sending Lance a nervous glance. He peers down at himself, and frowns when he notices his left arm lying directly on the arm rest, like it was tied down by invisible ties. Glancing up, he sees everyone looking at him, just…watching. 

He tucks it around his stomach instead, and spends the rest of lunch with his knees up to his chest picking at his food. 

-

What color were James’ eyes again?

-

Mr. “Please call me Coran” Smythe talks to his parents and him, though Lance spends most of the conversation watching the way his mustache twists. 

“We could attempt to press more charges against Kogane, of course, if you - ”

Lance shakes his head. “No, just. Just the kidnapping.”

“That’s what I thought.” Coran sighs. He’s the fluent spanish speaking attorney his family hired, and while Lance gets a little lost sometimes, Coran’s never made him feel patronized when he has to break stuff down for him. “I'll be honest with you lad, Kogane’s not going to get much jail time, if any.”

“What?” Mami stands, gripping the edge of the table so hard it creaks. “Why not?” 

“According to Arizona state law, Kogane released Lance - relatively - unharmed before his arrest. That brings it to a Class 2 felony to a Class 4. And even though Lance here was seventeen at the time, the law is fifteen and under for it to register as an underage kidnapping.” Mami collapses back into the seat, holding her head while Papi rubs her back soothingly. Lance watches it all happen impassively, picking at a loose thread in his t-shirt. He should feel something, shouldn’t he? 

Coran continues after giving his parents a few moments to regain themselves. “Nevermind the fact that Kogane had a psychiatric evaluation done on him. It’s…the defense is likely going to plead insanity. I want you to be prepared for that.”

Pick. Pick. Pick. 

“How long?” He asks tonelessly. 

Coran catches what he means instantly. “Class 4’s are usually up to 3.5 years, at most, of jail time. And that’s if they fail the insanity plea.” 

Lance nods. 

-

“You should watch less TV.” Rachel scolds him. “That’s stuff going to rot your brain. Why don’t you read a little bit instead, Luis brought you all these books…”

He flicks through another channel, knees up to his chest. “No thanks.” 

“C’mon, there’s Percy Jackson here. Isn’t that your favorite?”

_ Percy Jackson, he notes, flipping through the pages. It’s not his own well loved novel, with its dog-eared pages and bent spine, but it’s still its familiar and comforting words. _

Another channel. “I’m good.” 

Rachel sighs, aggravated. 

-

“Several people sent you get well letters.” Mami says, humming as her and Marco carry in the boxes of presents. “That friend of yours, Hunk? He cried so much when he heard about your rescue I thought he was going to give himself a panic attack. The nurses said it was fine if you ate some homemade food, so eat up!”

Mami stops, eyes widening when she glances down at his feet. “Hijo! Where did you put your shoes now?”

Lance shrugs. She sighs, putting down the boxes in her arms and helping him up to his feet. “Come. We’ll look for them. In the cafeteria, maybe?” 

He can feel Marco’s eyes boring into the back of his head as Mami fusses over him as they walk away. 

(The shoes were left under the common room table, and Lance carries them back by hand rather than put them on.)

-

He pokes at the spaghetti. Today it’s just Veronica, Mami and everyone else staying at the hotel for a much deserved rest. Vaguely, he wonders how they’re affording all of this. 

“You gonna eat it or poke at it?” Veronica asks with a little smile, that wanes as soon as he doesn’t bother to even try and smile back. He’s so tired of fake smiling. “Lance, you need to eat, I’m serious.” 

Lance snaps. “What, are you going to force me to otherwise?” 

Silence. Veronica stares at him, mouth parted in shock. Lance slams down his fork. 

“I’m done eating.” He says blandly, and leaves the cafeteria. 

-

“Am I insane, Lance?” Dream-Keith asks him. The sand beneath their feet is the ocean, rolling and shuddering beneath them. Blood drips down from his eyes. “Am I insane, or are you?”

-

“Do we have to visit Tío Lance again?” Sylvio complains from somewhere in the hallway. “He scares me. He talks to no-one and his arms are all red from itching.” 

Lisa hushes him. “Oh, he’s not all that bad. You can watch TV while me and your uncle chat then, okay? It’s just for a few hours till Papi gets off the call for work.” 

-

Dr. Altea shuffles her papers. 

“What do you want, Mr. McClain?” She asks, blue eyes piercing into him. “Not what your parents want, or your siblings, or even Kogane. What do _ you _want?”

-

This time, Coran sits with them outside in the gardens. Lance kicks off his shoes, ignoring Mami’s exasperated sigh, tracing figures in the dirt. 

“There’s no easy way to put this.” Coran confesses. 

Papi furrows his eyebrows. “The trial isn’t for another two weeks, isn’t it?” 

Coran shakes his head. “It’s not about the trail - well, mostly. Lance,” he looks up, dull eyes watching Coran’s concerned expression even as he continues to idly draw. “Kogane, before his arrest, transferred all his assets to you.” 

He pauses. 

Mami puts a protective hand on his shoulder. “What does that mean?” 

Coran opens up his folder, pulling out several sheets of paper and handing them to his parents. “That means, for Lance, you now have sole ownership of Kogane’s car, his house, the acres he owns, and his inheritance. Everything of his, all now belongs to you, until your death or you choose to relinquish ownership of it.” 

“Sell it.” Papi immediately demands, pushing the papers back at Coran. “Lance right now doesn’t need any of this stress, the money can be put into the college fund for him -”

“No.” 

All three of them stare. 

Lance withdraws from doodling, carefully taking the papers from Coran and smoothing them out. “I’ll…keep them. Use the money to pay for all of this,” he waves around at the hospital. “But…the land, and the car. I’ll…keep it.” 

Coran smiles proudly. “My boy, that may have been the first time I heard you give an opinion!”

-

“After the trial, honey…” Mami purses her lips, holding his hand tightly. Even Papi looks ashamed. “Both of us took a leave of absence from work to come stay here with you, but we have to go back soon. Do you want to come home with us? Your old bedroom is still the same, you could go to the community college until you feel ready to go back to school.” 

She seems to sense that he doesn’t have an answer. “Think about it.” 

-

“There’s a long term care facility a little bit outside of Phoenix,” Dr. Altea is explaining to his parents. “It might be needed, in order for Lance to better transition himself back into his former life, to have him stay there for a couple of weeks.” 

“Oh, I don’t know.” Mami says, fluttering her hands. “Is that really for the best?” 

Papi glances towards him, waiting for his opinion. But Lance doesn’t have one. 

-

It’s the day of the trial. His entire family sits with him in the common room, all of them waiting for Coran’s arrival back from the courthouse, murmuring in anxious chatters. 

Lance decided not to testify in person. Neither did Keith, apparently. Both of them just had their attorney’s do the work, an open and shut case. 

His heart flutters uncomfortably in his chest. 

Coran comes back around three, something intrinsically sad about the way his mustache twists. 

Lance stands up, taking a couple steps forward. “Keith…?”

Coran tries to smile. “The insanity plea worked.” He says, and the air goes out of the room. “He’s been deemed to be mentally unfit by several psychiatrists. So far, he’s to be committed in a criminalized mental institution.” 

He collapses back on the couch, choking back tears. “H-how long?”

Mami tries to comfort him, but he jerks away from her touch, burying his face in his hands. He did this to Keith. It’s all his fault. 

The attorney takes a seat next to him. “A year, it’s looking like.” 

A year. Twelve months. 

Oh Keith, you would love this irony wouldn’t you?

-

Dream-Keith watches him from behind a set of bars, looking out instead of looking in. He tilts his head, raising his palm in the air. Lance copies him, pressing their hands together and admiring how small Keith’s hand is in comparison to his. Keith was so much shorter than him, was even _ petite _in comparison to Lance’s lanky, something he never realized until recently. He always seemed larger than life. 

When he looks back at Keith next, there’s a collar wrapped around his neck, looking eerily like the one Lance used to wear when he misbehaved. 

“Look what you did to me.” Keith says simply, before the collar shocks him, both of them falling through the floor into the void of space. 

-

“What will you do?”

Lance stares out the window. “I think I’ll stay here.”

-

Mami and Papi go back to Cuba. 

Papi wraps him in such a fierce hug his spine cracks, juxtaposing it with a soft but firm kiss to his forehead. “You’re such a strong boy.” He quietly says, cupping the back of his head. “Whatever you do, I’ll be proud of you, okay?” 

Lance nods with wet eyes. Mami wipes them gently. “I’m always a phone call away if you need me.” She reminds him, drawing him into her own hug. “I love you, my heart.” 

He looks down at his hands. There’s no blood on them, there hasn’t been for months, but yet he can still feel it under his fingernails. She wouldn’t love him if she knew the truth. None of them would. None of them except Keith. 

“I love you too,” he murmurs, hiding his hands behind her back. 

His parents leave. Luis and Lisa leave with them, smiling apologetically at him as they escort a fussy Nadia to the airport. Rachel rubs his hair violently, and Lance only gives her a half-hearted wave before she leaves with an uncharacteristically solemn Marco. 

And then there were two. 

“It’s not much,” Veronica is saying as they drive through Phoenix, towards a residential area he doesn’t recognize. “But I have a fold-up couch, and a nice TV. Those friends of your said they kept your room the way it was, when you’re ready to join them. Though I suppose you’ll have to enroll in the Garrison again, but you can do that when you’re ready…” 

When he’s ready. Always when he’s ready. What if he’s never ready? 

He rests his head against the window, closing his eyes to block out all the sensory input. “Can you put on some music?” He asks, interrupting her.

A pause. “Fine,” she said, a little tightly, like what she does whenever she’s angry but doesn’t want to admit it. 

Some pop music comes on the station, and Lance isn’t sure if he’s relieved or not that he doesn’t recognize it. By the time they arrive at the ranch style house Veronica’s renting, the anger has drained out of her, and she’s back to her smiling self as she unlocks the door. 

“Surprise!” 

Lance stops in the doorway, blinking up at the banner strung along the far wall, and what’s below it… 

“Hunk.” He whispers, right as his best friend scoops him up in his arms. Lance throws his arms around his shoulders, tucking his head right in the crook of his shoulder. Smaller arms come up around him, Pidge pressing her head into the back of his shirt. 

“Hey Lance.” Hunk whispers, nuzzling his head against his. “We’ve missed you, buddy. Glad to see you home.” 

-

Routine settles in. 

Hunk and Pidge take Blue again, Veronica sneezing her goodbye’s to them. They visit as often as they can, but between school and work, it’s not as often as they would like, or that’s what Hunk tells him regularly. Lance isn’t surprised to hear that Hunk finally got together with Shay, the bartender he’s had a crush on for _ years_. Just sad that he missed it. Pidge won a robotics award at states, apparently there was a huge party and everything. 

“It wasn’t _ that _fun,” Pidge says, knocking her shoulder into his. “Everyone just got piss drunk. Stacey from Bio fell asleep on top of the fridge.” 

Lance cracks half a smile. “Wish I could have seen it.” 

They ask him about his year with Keith. He finds, everytime, that he never has anything he wants to say. 

A whole year of his life, gone, just like that. It’s a year he’s never going to get back. 

Veronica is gone from sunrise to barely before sunset. She always looks a little harried, thick lines of exhaustion under her eyes. 

“Have you eaten today?” She asks him, and Lance shrugs, because no, he hasn’t. Veronica sighs, before heating up a TV dinner for him and retreating into her room. 

He forgets to do a lot. He’s so used to having Keith remember for him. 

Mostly, he just sits and watch TV. Nothing interesting either. Just flicks to a random channel after Veronica leave, and the next thing he knows, she’s walking back inside, the sun setting behind her. 

“Have you showered?” Is another question he gets asked a lot, especially as they progress further into the second week. She comes home earlier than usual on Wednesday, and practically throws the towel into his hands and orders him into the bathroom. 

Lance takes the shower, not out of any real wish to, but because Veronica really might throw him out if he keeps stinking up her couch. Afterwards, he sits on the counter for several long minutes, just watching the door meaningfully. 

_ C’mon Keith, I already finished, let me out of here already - _

Oh. It’s so weird it’s painful, just to open the bathroom door like that and have it not be locked. He almost misses it. 

Veronica waits for him at the kitchen table, a mug of coffee in front of her. She motions for him to sit down, waiting patiently until he’s comfortable in the seat across from her. 

“You can’t keep doing this, this -” She waves at the air around her. “Watching TV all day, when’s the last time you’ve been outside?” 

He shrugs. Veronica growls. “You’re never going to get better if all you do is sit on the couch. Go hang out with your friends, go for a walk, read something.” 

Unnoticed to her, he stiffens. 

Veronica pulls at her hair. “I can’t take care of you, Lance. You need to take care of yourself.” 

But he’s forgotten how. 

“I know that man messed you up big time, but if you just talked to _ someone _about it. Not even me, anyone! Have you even seen about setting up appointments with your therapist?” 

Silence. 

Veronica stands up, shoving her mug in the sink. “I need to go out for a little bit. I’ll be back before midnight, try to eat something.” 

And then she was gone. 

He’s alone. Truly alone. No Blue. No Keith. 

Lance wavers, a reed in the wind. His hands shake on the table as he stumbles to his feet, back to the bathroom. Standing in front of the mirror, Lance touches his reflection, tipping his head every which way. 

Panda eyes. Just like how he was in the very beginning. 

Biting his lip, Lance just stares at his reflection, feeling his eyes water dangerously. 

He misses Keith, so fucking much. 

Grabbing his anxiety meds, he pops a tablet in his mouth, dry swallowing it painfully. Lance turns on the sink, letting it run as he tips more into his palm, messily ducking down to scoop water into his mouth. Then, when the bottle runs dry, he rips open the cabinets until he finds the new antidepressants his psychiatrist prescribed, not even bothering to read the names of any of them as he swallows and swallows until his throat is _ aching _and god his stomach hurts fuck it hurts so badly and the sink is still running and Veronica is calling out “Lance - ” and she’s screaming why is she screaming and he’s puking on himself why is it yellow and Veronica is begging him to stay awake even as he cries from the pain and - 

he 

fades

out

-

Dream-Keith and him lay under the universe, greenhouse soil underneath them as they stare up at the stars hand in hand. 

“This can’t go on.” Keith murmurs up at him. Lance is sitting on the edge of the bed, Keith kneeling between his legs with his head resting on Lance’s knee. He traces lines up and down the seam of Lance’s jeans, humming to himself quietly. 

“I don’t know what to do.” Lance confesses, agonized. Keith lolls his head until he’s looking up at Lance, like a man seeking salvation through grace. “It’s just. Dead ends wherever I look.” 

Keith smiles into his neck, both of them panting from the afterglow in the bathtub. He shifts up until Lance slides out of him, kissing along his collarbone. The older male lists his head to the side until his hair pools down his sweat soaked neck, long eyelashes slowly blinking down at him. “Why bother talking to me, then?” 

“I’m not the real Keith, after all.” Keith says, both of them looking up at the sea of stars from on top of the CRV. Their heads lie together even as their bodies sprawl in opposite directions, hands linked above their heads. 

Garden soil digs into his bare feet as Keith swings their hands, smiling so sweetly at Lance in their beloved greenhouse. Music plays, a quiet strum with lyrics unrecognizable, but Keith still draws him close to nuzzle the side of his head, so intimate and loving it’s painful. “He’s still alive, y’know.” 

Blood soaks Keith’s shirt, his arms and his neck. He leaves James’ blood in thick streaks down Lance’s face as he cups his face and brings him into a passionate kiss. “He’s still here. He still loves you.” When Keith breaks the kiss, there’s blood all around his mouth, and when Lance smiles back, he feels a similar stickiness caked along his lower face. 

Lance looks over at him, using his foot to sway the both of them on the rocking bench on the front porch. Keith uses his hand to block his eyes from the sun, shooting a secretive grin. “What do you want, Mr. McClain?” Keith asks him, in Dr. Altea’s voice. “Not what your parents want, or your siblings, or even Kogane. What do _ you _want?”

They’re sitting at the _ Quintessence_, knees touching under the bar. Keith tucks a strand of his hair behind his ear and watches him with infallible patience. The drinks glisten on the counter under the dim lighting.

Lance opens his mouth. “I want -”

-

He wakes up. 

-

There’s a long silence, before she takes a shaky breath. “_Are you alright, now?_”

He nods, before realizing that she can’t see him. “Yeah, they pumped everything out.” Lance twists the phone’s wire around his finger. “Just here for a mandatory stay for the next week or so. Might be longer.” 

“Here” being a full blown mental health facility, a little bit out of Phoenix in Scottsdale, the same one Dr. Altea recommended to him a while ago. He was transferred as soon as he was stable, and he actually kind of liked it. While it was cold, and the food wasn’t the best, they truly had round the clock care and someone always to pull him out of his daydreams. 

But they weren’t daydreams, he reminded himself. He’s been dissociating for weeks straight, according to Dr. Altea. He spent Christmas in the hospital. 

“_I’m glad to hear that.” _ Mami says with such sincerity that Lance blinks back his tears. “_Do you want me to come up?” _

Lance is already shaking his head no, before, once again, realizing that she can’t see him. “No, no. I’m…I’m okay. I think this was the wakeup call I needed.” 

Mami lets out a shaky breath. “_You sound better. The offer’s open anytime, if you need it. I love you, honey._” 

“I love you too, Mami.” Lance holds the old phone so hard it creaks. “Will…will you still love me, even if I did something really bad?” 

He can’t see it, but he can feel her smile. “_A mother’s love is not something so conditional, my heart. There is nothing that you do that could make me love you any less._” 

Twist. Twist. Twist. “Mami…I…”

“_I__ won’t judge._”

Lance closes his eyes. Chokes down the memory of blood on the sand and Keith’s smile. “I miss him,” he admits hoarsely. “I grew to love him.”

If she was here in person, he thinks this would be the moment she'd hug him. “_Oh, Lance. _”

“I know, I know.” Clearing his throat, Lance tries again. “It’s just…he needed help. I know it doesn’t excuse it Mami, doesn’t excuse how awful those first months were. But…he made me feel _ needed_. I…liked it. I liked the way he made me feel. I’m addicted to it.” 

She swallows. “_Lance, my heart. I can’t tell you what to do, that’s only up to you. But do whatever you think is best, and know that me and your father will always love you no matter what decision you make._”

-

Veronica cries when he’s released. 

So does he. 

-

He moves into the independent living facility two days later. Pidge’s brother is the only one who owns a truck, so they all gather his stuff from his old apartment and help him move into his new studio apartment. 

“On the bright side,” Hunk tells him cheerfully as they drop the boxes off on the couch. “Blue can live with you again. She’s missed you so much, y’know.” 

Blue howls miserably from the cat carrier. 

Lance tries to smile at his best friend, hugging himself as Veronica drops the duffle bag of clothing that his parents shipped from Cuba on the foot of his new bed. “Really?” 

Hunk nods enthusiastically. “For sure!” 

Pidge siddles up next to them, pushing her glasses up with a small scowl. “Hey.” She says shortly, obviously hesitating. “I’m sorry about him taking Blue.” 

When she says ‘him’, her entire face scrunches up like the word itself gives her nausea. Lance weakly smiles, shaking his head.

“Doubt you could have stopped him.” Lance shrugs. He pops open the cooler Matt brought with him and takes one of the water bottles, pressing it against the back of his neck. “He was in and out of the apartment for months without any of us knowing.” 

Silence.

Lance glances up, blinking at his friends flabbergasted expression. “What?” 

Hunk swallows. “Was he stalking you? Why didn’t you charge him with it if you knew about it?” His best friend looks so honestly confused that Lance’s heart aches in sympathy. 

The boy, who’s no longer a teenager nor quite an adult, just smiles wistfully as he twists open the water bottle, condensation wetting his hands. “Don’t worry about it, guys.” 

When he glances up, Veronica is watching him with something painful flickering in her eyes. He smiles close lipped at her before taking a sip, eyes flitting around his new apartment. The studio apartment is a little bit out of Phoenix in Mesa, and it’s fitted a bit strangely, mostly for the lack of kitchen and strange bathroom setup - it’s more like a hotel room than an apartment. 

Keith’s money paid for everything and more. His red CRV sits in the parking lot. 

Lance tips his head to the side, watching out the window a mother helping her child across the monkey bars in the small courtyard the facility has. The sight of a kid and their parent assures him of some of his anxiety - at least he isn’t the only one under 30. 

“That’s everything.” Matt calls, startling him as out his thoughts as he drops the final box on the twin bed. “Anything else before we get dinner?” 

Lance sends one last glance out the window, the child cheering as they finally reach the last bar. “No,” he says, turning away from the happy sight. “I think we’re good here.”

-

Exhaling, Lance gently pets Blue’s head, his baby girl tucked up against his side. She’s still so skittish, even after a couple of days in their new home. Probably doesn’t help that he’s still unpacking, even after being given several afternoons to do so. It’s been lights out for several hours, and yet he still can’t sleep. 

“Do you miss him too?” He breathes, Blue’s namesake eyes staring back at him. She meows softly and rubs her head against his hand, and he cracks a small smile. 

The bed feels so big. Lance was too out of it to notice it before, but now that he has, there’s no way he _ can’t_. 

Is this what recovery is supposed to feel like? Like the emptiness inside has been filled with boiling oil? 

Sighing, Lance closes his eyes and tries to convince himself to sleep. Romelle from room seven - she was the woman he saw playing with her kid on the playground, who turned out not to be her son but her younger brother - taught him a couple breathing exercises to help with insomnia. 

He’s on exercise number four when he finally drops off into sleep, Dream-Keith grins at him from where he hangs upside down on the monkey bars, both of them children laughing as they chase each other around the playground. 

-

“What cha looking at?” Romelle asks, blinking bright eyes at the computer screen. Bandor copies her from where he’s perched on her shoulders, tugging at her long blonde hair. She doesn’t even blink. 

The three of them are in one of the communal living spaces of the facility. They have a small desktop computer, a big TV against the far wall with soft couches, and a small chest of kids toys. 

Lance shrugs, hugging his knees with his left arm as he uses his right to click through yellow pages. On another tab he has Arizona’s recent court cases, and in another, a small article written about his disappearance. 

“He always…” Lance trails off, biting his lip. “Keith always knew so much about me. My favorite foods, my favorite color, what I liked to read, hell, he knew which shampoo brands I preferred.” 

Scrolling a little more, his eyes roam restlessly around the Ko’s, looking for some trace of Keith. “I want to know more about him, too.” 

Romelle doesn’t seem like she gets it, but she doesn’t try to change his mind either. Slipping Bandor down, she rolls her stiff shoulders for a moment before bending down and whispering at Bandor to go play with the toys. The instant he runs over, she steals his mouse and opens up an incognito window, typing in a URL he doesn’t recognize. 

It brings them to what looks like some kind of search engine, with some kind of motto about connecting families. Handing the mouse back, she gives him a smile of a person who’s been there. 

“Try this,” she says, crossing her arms and quirking her head back to keep an eye on Bandor playing with his train set. A couple older residents enter the common room, and while both of them stiffen, they only offer their hellos before continuing on towards the dining hall. “Good luck.” 

Lance gives her an actual genuine smile, touched by the gesture. “Thanks Romelle, see you for dinner.” 

“See you then,” she waves her goodbye, before taking off towards Bandor, shouting, “Bandor Arus Pollux take that out of your mouth right this instant!” 

He laughs a little bit under his breath, turning back towards the website. Cracking his knuckles, Lance types in Keith’s full name, and sets himself in for the wait. 

-

Keith Kogane. 

He swallows his mouthful of dinner, an absent ear open to Romelle and Bandor’s silly conversation about whether or not tooth brushing is mandatory, the little boy wheedling his sister, while Romelle refuses to back down like it’s a personal challenge. 

Lance McClain. July 28th. 18. 

Keith Kogane. October 23rd. 21. 

Distantly, he wonders if Keith knew his birthday had passed, or, like Lance, they both were floundering in the ocean, knowing nothing but how to cling onto each other and drag the other down into its dark depths. 

-

“Now, I’m going to write you a different prescription, but you have to stay on it for it to work like it’s supposed to.” Dr. Altea says pointedly, scribbling something on her clipboard. “When you move out of the facility, I would prefer that you have your sister handle them - ”

“Hunk.” 

Dr. Altea looks up. “Hmm?”

Lance fiddles with his hands, rubbing his thumb against his fist. After a moment, he realizes that Keith used to do this whenever he was anxious as well, and the thought has a small smile tugging his lips up. 

“Give them to Hunk,” he says, trying to project his confidence. “I think…I think I’m gonna try to apply for the Garrison again.” 

Dr. Altea smile blooms like a flower in Spring. “_Very _good.” She taps her pen, a light beat that reminds him of rain beating against the window in the shack. “Now, is there anything else you wanted to ask before we end our session for today?” 

-

Lance sits on his sister’s couch, staring at the key necklace in his hands. Veronica’s in her office when he raps on her door, her glasses sliding down her nose as she does paperwork. “Hey, I’m going out. Don’t wait up, okay?”

Veronica smiles, if a bit concerned. He’s staying at her place on Wednesday for his weekly family visit, and while they were supposed to go out and go roller skating, like when they were kids, she got a call from work and ended up hiding herself away. “Be safe!”

“I will!” He calls as grabs his shoes, putting them on with a little wrinkle of his nose. Once he’s out of the house and safety in the driver’s seat of the red CRV, he kicks his shoes off and drives in his new fuzzy socks. 

It’s an hour drive from Veronica’s home to Keith’s shack, so he mostly plays music and sings along to the lyrics. He’s still in awe that he…_ owns _all of this. Coran showed him the papers on the acre space Keith possessed, but him and Keith are the only ones who know where the location of the shack was built. 

“Eugh,” he mutters as he walks into the smelling house, all the contents in the fridge obviously having gone bad. He dumps his shoes somewhere by the foot of the bed, not for the first time wishing that Keith didn’t nail down all the windows, even if it was effective as all hell. Lance makes due by propping the door open with a stack of books, grabbing some paper towels and using the still running water to wipe down any of the dust that was collected. When that’s done, he plugs his nose and takes the dive, yanking open the fridge and gagging despite himself. 

Yep. It’s all going into the compost. All of it. 

Overall, the next few hours are busy. He turns the radio on and bobs to the music as he cleans out the fridge, killing a scorpion with barely a flinch who decided that the shack was it’s new home. 

It may have been a bit overkill, to drop a brick on it, but it worked. 

Lesson learned, he slips his shoes back on to carry the trash bag to the compost behind the greenhouse. While he’s there, he checks on the plants, disappointed but unsuprised that most of them died, the watering system shutting down when there wasn’t human interference to let them keep draining from the water tanks. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs to them, gently brushing a finger across the wilted leaves before closing the doors behind him. He’ll fix it. He has time, now. 

He heads back to the shack, the house finally aired out enough that he could close the door. Humming to himself cheerfully, he turns down the radio, kneeling down to get the box he knew Keith kept under here. “Yes!” He does a full body wiggle when he finds it, jumping onto the bed and pulling the shoebox into his lap before taking the dusty cover off. 

Most of the photos are from before they started ‘dating’, Lance muses as he falls back until his head is resting on his pillow; Keith having once told him he printed them out at a dark room they had at the local art center. But there’s some more recent ones, all artistic shots of his naked self posing in the fading light of mid-afternoon that somehow managed to make him look beautiful in every single one, and a powered off digital camera. 

Lance turns it on, waiting impatiently for the power up sequence to finish. While it takes forever to boot up, he sorts through the rest of the photos, pausing when he finds a dusty bundle at the bottom. 

None of the pictures are of him. He finds a couple of various kids, but Keith must have lost interest quickly because there’s less than a handful of them. Beyond them, there’s several candids of other teenagers and young adults, a mix of Lance’s age group, all of them wide eyed and innocent to how fucked up the world is. 

Did you like them, Keith? Did you want to fuck them like you fucked me? 

Scowling darkly, he grabs them harshly, not caring if he crinkles those fucking photos. The burner is electric, but there’s other ways around it. Yanking open the cabinets, he digs through them until he finds Keith’s emergency kit, slipping one of the matches out and harshly striking it against the box. On the third try, it catches lit, and so furious his hands are shaking, he lights the entire pile of photographs on fire. 

Of course, he’s not a fucking idiot. He does it above the sink, waiting until the very last wisps of those other people Keith dared fucking photograph burn to a crisp before dropping it in the sink before it can singe his fingertips and dousing the fire with a quick splash. 

Better not do that again, Keith, or you won’t like the consequences. 

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. The power up sequence of the digital camera rings under the quiet serenade of the radio, and mood lightened up, he hops back onto the bed and lays back, quickly sorting towards the camera’s library. 

Grinning to himself, he clicks the latest video to play, hand sinking into his pants as he loses himself in the fantasy of his digital selves flushed face and Keith’s quiet groans. 

-

Lance pulls up outside Arizona State Hospital the next day, following the signs towards the forensic unit. He taps nervously against the wheel, sunglasses covering most of his face both from the light and from the excess sensory input. 

He lowers his window when the road slopes to a small guard station, taking off his sunglasses and folding them away. “Hi, I’m Lance McClain, I called about visitations…?”

The guard - whose name tag reads Thace - smiles kindly at him after checking something on his desk. “Just need some ID then.” 

When he shows it, Thace nods to himself and buzzes Lance through, handing him a badge to get inside the main building. “Word of advice.” He calls out to Lance as he starts to roll up his window. “You won’t take it, but I’ll give it anyhow. People don’t change, so be careful.”

Lance smiles, a thin, plastic fake one. “Thank you, officer.” Before driving away. Parking at the edge of the parking lot, he sits there for a long moment, just staring at the imposing concrete building. Panic starts to edge in on him, closing in on him like the jaws of a viper. No no no no he’s been doing so good recently not right now - 

_Breath with me, darlin’. _

One, two. One, two. The ocean. Sonoran sand underneath his feet. A bed made for one fitting two. His greenhouse. 

One. Two. 

One. Two. 

Exhaling, he slowly opens his eyes once again, staring at his reflection dully. Lifelessly, he pops open his vanilla chapstick and runs it along his lips, fixing his hair until it lies just the way he wants it to across his forehead. Slapping on his sunglasses, he ducks his head as he power walks to the entrance. 

Buzzing himself into reception, he rolls his shoulders under the eyes of numerous security cameras as he steps up to the receptionist desk. “I’m Lance McClain, here for visitations…?” 

She peeks down at computer, clicking around before evidently finding what she needs. “Keith Kogane?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

The receptionist waves towards a door off to the side. “Take off everything that could be used as a weapon, including your jacket or any keys in locker 33. Phones are not permitted. A staff member will come get you when the patient is ready for visits.”

He nods, going through the door she told him too and quickly finding his locker. Shrugging off his army jacket, he hangs it on the hook in his designated locker, taking off his necklace and sunglasses as well. There’s nothing else in his pockets, so he closes the locker door and continues deeper into the concrete building. When he goes through the next door, a security guard nods at him politely while slipping on his plastic gloves, the two of them standing in a long narrow hallway lacking any natural light. 

“I’m Kolivan,” the officer greets quietly, using the back of his hands to lightly pat him down. Lance flinches despite himself, but if Kolivan notices, he doesn’t say anything. “I’ll be supervising this visit at all times. You will be allowed to hug the patient twice - once at the beginning of the visit and once at the end. You may hold their hand, if it’s above the table at all times. The visit will last an hour, until 6:45 PM. You may leave at any time if you feel uncomfortable for any reason.” The part seems to be added last minute, at Lance’s increasingly nervous expression. 

Kolivan finishes up the pat down, neatly removing his gloves. The walkie talkie buzzes, noise that Lance can’t understand over the noise in his head, but it must be good because Kolivan nods and tells him, “Follow me.” 

So he does. 

It’s not long of a walk, and Lance sighs in relief as he finally sees a damn window, even if it does have bars on it. Finally, Kolivan stops outside a room with the words ‘Visitor’s Lounge’ on the sign next to it. 

He’s not ready. But yet he is. 

The door opens. 

There, sitting in one of those metal chairs bolted to the floor by the window, is the man in loose hospital scrubs he came to see, chin resting on his hands as he stares up impassively at a flock of birds flying by. 

Violet eyes drift up to meet his own. They widen, Keith jolting up as he stares at Lance in utter shock and awe. Keith slowly grins himself silly, covering his mouth with watering eyes. 

“Sweetheart,” he practically breathes it, but Lance hears it all the same. 

Lance takes a step forward. Then another. And then another. Keith stands up quickly, glancing behind him at Kolivan. His gaze switches to Lance, arms opening up almost shyly. 

He falls into Keith’s arms with a sob. 

It’s like coming home again. 

Keith hugs him in a way that no one else can truly imitate, so full and encompassing. Lance could get lost in the way Keith makes him feel, but Kolivan clears his throat from behind them, so they reluctantly separate, sitting down on opposite ends of the table with wide eyes at each other like they still can’t believe this is happening. 

Abruptly, he remembers they can hold hands, so he holds his hand out over the table. Keith takes it so fast he snickers. Keith just watches him, his lips quirking a little bit. 

He looks…better. His hair isn’t so greasy, and he lost some of that predator edge to him. Yet, there’s a bruise high on his forehead and his hand shakes in Lance’s. 

Keith clears his throat. “You…You look good.”

Lance smiles. “Thanks,” he nervously brushes his hair out of the way, face so hot it feels like its burning. “So do you. How’s…this place treating you? You eating enough?”

“It’s fine, hon’.” Keith shrugs, a bit of his southern accent slipping out even as his fingers start to shake even more. “I’m more interested in hearing about you. You all right out there in the world?”

His smile slips a little bit. “It’s…It’s…” His voice cracks. “It’s not easy, y’know. I didn’t adjust well, I’m still not doing too hot. I tried to kill myself three weeks ago.”

“_Sweetheart_, oh god - ”

He holds up a hand. “No,” Lance practically spits out. “You don’t get to apologize for this. Not after what you did to me.” He rubs at his eyes, enraged beyond words. “I hate you so much.”

Keith looks absolutely gutted, trying to pull his hand back, but Lance won’t let him. “I love you too, and that kills me. Utterly kills me. Tore me apart until I tried to end it. But I came to a decision while they were pumping my stomach from me ODing myself. Wanna know what that was?”

The older male looks cautious, and he damn should be. “I turned it over and over in my head, trying to find some way to be with you and not have it all crash and burn. Because what we had?” Lance grins with too many teeth. “It was killing both of us. One of those days either I was going to kill myself or you were, but neither of us wanted to admit it.”

Lance straightens up, lifting his chin up high as he stares Keith right in the eyes. “And I found out - it was impossible. You need help, and so do I. Severe help, and if I was a smart kind of person, I would have ended this when you let me go.” 

“Sweetheart…”

He swallows. “But I’m not smart, I’m not strong. I need you so damn much, I can barely _ breathe _ without you. You turned me into this kind of person, so take fucking responsibility. Except this time, it’s on my rules, my terf. Right now, who the fuck cares about healthy. I’m willing to do anything as long as you’ll be _ mine _ again. We can figure out the rest later. This is what I want: You. Got it?”

Keith stares at him with his mouth open, cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink. He’s squirming in a way that Lance knows means he’s carrying a stiffy, legs shifting restlessly under the table. “O-okay.” He nods his head, eyes glazed over a little bit. “I’m yours.” 

Lance breaths in the familiar rush of the power trip, smirking to himself. Oh, this fucked up codependency is going to kill them both. But right now, Lance can’t bring himself to care. 

Keith turned into this kind of person. So rotten on the inside, a diseased, sick little thing. The old him would have so disgusted at how he’s acting, but he’s not that innocent, wide-eyed boy anymore. He’s not sure what he is anymore, but he’s Keith’s, and that’s good enough. 

He needs Keith, and Keith needs him. They’ll take care of each other for the rest of time, and Lance won’t ever have to fear being left alone again. 

Because James is a secret that goes both ways, that could end both of them. 

Keith won’t ever leave him. 

He breathes for just a few moments, relaxing back from his slightly deranged speech. Kolivan watches the both of them with some slight shock, obviously having overheard the entire exchange, but Lance only leans his head against his fist and squeezes Keith’s palm with his other hand. 

“We’ll be together forever, won’t we?” Lance asks genuinely, beaming brightly at his boyfriend as he strokes his thumb along the back of his unevenly tanned hand from those fingerless gloves he loves so much. 

Keith shivers, smiling back at him with red tipped ears and eyes sparkling under the poor lighting. “Until death do us part, Sweetheart.” 

The ache in his chest at last fading, he watches Keith try to bring his hand up to kiss it, only for Kolivan to clear his throat pointedly. 

They spend the rest of the visit catching up to each other. Keith tells him about his stay, about the food and his psychiatrist who he affectionately calls Shiro. The bruise is apparently from a fight with another patient, but Lance can tell some of the staff also make him nervous. In return, Lance tells him where he lives now, about Blue and how the greenhouse is doing, which Keith predictably eats up.

When it’s time to go, Lance savors their goodbye hug. “I’ll be back for weekend visitations.” He promises, squeezing Keith tightly against him. Burrowing his face in Keith’s long hair, he breathes one last thing to Keith before letting go. 

“If you ever try to let me go like that again, I’ll kill myself.” 

Keith watches him, stricken, as Kolivan leads Lance away. He endures another patdown from an uneasy Kolivan, before retrieving his things and climbing back into Keith’s car. 

Lance slides his sunglasses back on and heaves a heavy sigh, smiling despite himself as he observes the forensic hospital, still seeing Keith’s awed smile from beneath his eyelids. 

Nothing is going to ruin their relationship. Not even Keith himself. 

**Author's Note:**

> This is the end guys, wow. I'm so sad to see this series go, its been a long and emotional journey. From the beginning, I've always tried to write a introspective piece about mental illness, dependency, and grief. About what lengths obsession can drive people to do. And for the most part, I think I succeeded. Thank you so much to everyone who sticked with me throughout this series. 
> 
> If I mispelled anything, sorry in advance, but thank you to Hero_in_heels, KaterinaRiley, Brokutoowl, RipVanWinkle, Carbish, renten, ghostings, Otaku_Dreamerz, BlueFeline, Nani_The_Quiznak, soulcats, IlluminatiNight, justpeachyfruit, and Sapptol. Some of you have been here since the beginning, and some of you have just recently started reading, but you make my day every time I reread these comments. No kidding. 
> 
> PhoenixXoX and DairyFarmer, special shoutouts bc your comments literally made me tear up they were so sweet and in depth. 
> 
> And special thanks to Jesse, who threw four pillows at me after reading part eleven. TheLoserWithAKeyboard, for supporting me in not only this series, but in others as well. And especially GoddessesofEverything, for giving me someone to just _talk_ about these characters, I appreciate it more than any of you know. 
> 
> See ya.


End file.
